Badly Behaved

It’s not some vain attempt to keep his standard ‘I wake up like this’ vibe, but simply him, relaxed and rolling down old roads he must be familiar with, an easy grin on his face. I’m not sure where we’re going, but I slipped into the passenger seat without pausing to ask, so I guess that means I don’t care.

I probably should after what happened tonight. Not that anything happened, per se, but it could have.

Obviously, I was in no shape to protest.

Obviously, I didn’t want to...

I hadn’t even had a single drink before the one Arsen served me, so yeah, I was stone-cold sober.

Momentarily drunk on lust.

Again, I need to spend some time under the covers.

My eyes lift to Beretta’s deep brown locks as they fall forward once more, the gust of the wind sweeping over the sides of the car as we turn left at a stop sign.

My fingers lift, gently slipping into his soft hair, swiping it out of the way for him, and he cuts me a quick glance, his grin holding as he faces forward.

As my hand begins to fall back in place, I catch Arsen’s eyes in the mirror.

He holds mine for a few seconds, looking away in the next, and when I face forward, I realize we’re pulling into a parking garage in front of a boarded-up, abandoned office complex covered in graffiti.

My features tighten as I look around, not another car in sight, and I’m about to ask what this little stop is about, but then he turns left, toward the giant ‘do not enter’ sign, where there once was an entrance. We curve around the lower level, the proof of the night disappearing as we’re now underground, and not alone.

At least two dozen other cars fill the warm lit place, and my head snaps right when the echo of a door closing reaches us.

A girl, maybe nineteen-ish stands there, straightening her short blue wig before she slings a small purse over her shoulder, the box-style clutch meeting the skin of her thigh, her leopard print dress is so short. She looks to the car she climbed out of and pops her hip out. Finally, the passenger side door of the yellow Volkswagen opens, and a guy climbs out.

He doesn’t spare her a glance, but she hooks her arm into his and together, they walk in a direction I can’t see.

“Where are we?” I ask, slowly looking to Beretta since he’s the one in the seat beside me.

His grin is deep, and he unbuckles his seat belt, so I do the same, climbing from the car as he does, the others right behind us.

They begin forward, the top to the convertible folding behind us, but I lean my ass on the door, crossing my arms.

It takes them three whole steps to realize I’m not at their side, and they pause, three glares swinging my way.

“Where are we?” I ask again.

“A... club.” Ransom’s frown deepens. “Sort of.”

“Does this club happen to have black lights, too, because I’m basically an X-rated picture book.”

Arsen laughs and starts walking again. Ransom is quick to follow after him and Beretta grins, his arm stretching out, so he can grip me by the wrist.

He pulls and with a heavy sigh, I follow. “No, Trouble. No black lights, though I’d love to see our work.”

“I bet.”

Beretta laughs, his fingers gliding down to lace with mine. For some reason, I let him.

A large ‘out of service’ sign is drilled into the elevator door, wires sticking out all over the place where the bottom should be located, yet somehow the thing opens and the boys begin to walk inside.

I attempt to yank free, but Beretta’s grip tightens, and he yanks me forward, wrapping his arm around my body before I can scurry back.

“Cool, so you guys want to die.”

“It’s a deflector, to get people who wander this way to wander right back to where they came from.”

The elevator is nothing but a black cube, and I’m unable to decipher if it travels up or down, but whichever way it’s headed, it’s toward a crowd.

Their laughter begins to invade my ears, the rich, creamy sandalwood-like aroma from fresh smoked, inexpensive cigars lighting a small fire in my throat as it seeps into the elevator the moment the doors ding open.

While the chatter is loud and the music low, nothing is before us but a tiny hall lit up by streaks of light, a metal door at the end of it.

We follow the sound, push through the door and suddenly we’re standing on a balcony that’s seen better days.

The paint is chipped, and the railing has rusted over, but you can tell it was a beautiful place once upon a time.

The ceilings are high with intricate crown molding in desperate need of some attention, but as I step closer to the edge and look out, I would guarantee nobody here has noticed, nor do they care.